


The Princess and the Apple Tree

by stubblesandwich



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, cs fairytales, lt duckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubblesandwich/pseuds/stubblesandwich
Summary: Princess Emma knows no better place than the expansive garden that was built for her as a small child. When a young thief dares to scale the garden’s walls, Emma finds herself befriending Killian Jones, a boy who lives in her kingdom. Over time, they become inseparable, and as they grow, so does their love for one another–until the day Killian mysteriously disappears, and Emma finds herself strangely drawn to an apple tree that appears in her garden.A Lieutenant Duckling-inspired fairy tale, inspired by an A.A. Milne story with the same title.





	1. The Garden

Once, long ago, in a kingdom filled with laughter, there lived a princess. She was kind, brave, and beautiful. When she passed through the village in the royal carriage with the king and queen, the people would speak for days of her beauty and the way the sun would gleam across her long, golden hair. Princess Emma was beloved, revered, and treasured. 

Among all the riches of the kingdom and the expanse of the castle grounds, Emma most cherished her garden. It had been built and dedicated to her when she was a small child–a gift from her father, whom she loved dearly, on her birthday.

The garden was vast, with tall, intricate metal gates enclosing it. Flowers of all different species bloomed vibrantly along its paths all year round. Heart-shaped plants imported from Wonderland blossomed in early spring, when frost still touched the mornings; their leaves shifted colors, on a spectrum from bright orange to deep plum, depending on the temperature of the air, sensitive to the exact degree. Hardy flowering cacti had been brought in from Agrabah; they grew in twisted shapes that could change direction when the cool of night fell. Fruit-bearing bushes from Oz took up their own corner of the garden, yielding berries as sweet as candy. The queen of Arendelle had gifted unto the princess flowers that could grow taller than Emma, whose petals would dance and twirl whimsically with even the slightest touch of wind.

 

Princess Emma fell in love with her garden, losing hours of the day to the whimsy it held.

The palace gardeners tended daily to the shrubs and small trees, shaping them into anything she wished. These gardeners loved her just as much as the villagers, wanting nothing more than to be graced with her smile.

For her ninth birthday, the head gardener, Geppetto, had asked what she would most love to see when it came time to trim the larger bushes at the end of spring.

Emma had pondered this for a moment, before beaming at him and giving her reply, “A unicorn! No, wait,” she said, “A dragon! Or a serpent! Oh, I can’t decide.“ 

The very next morning, as she threw open the doors to her garden, a wonderful sight awaited her and she all but leaped in delight. Somehow, Geppetto had managed each of her requests. A unicorn, reared back on its hind legs and pawing the air, greeted her first. Geppetto had painstakingly cut the largest and closest bush into the shape of the mythical creature, just for her.

As she made her way through the rest of the garden, she could see a small dragon with its head held high and wings stretched outward, shaped out of one of the orange and red bushes imported from Wonderland. Its colors would shift from red to orange whenever the cool wind danced across its leaves.

And lastly, created with several white bushes spread apart from one another, to give the illusion of a long sea creature slinking through shallow water, the gardeners had created a serpent just for her. Its head came to rest just near the center of the garden, mouth open, teeth bared. 

She had thanked Geppetto personally with a kiss to each of his cheeks that promptly made them turn red with blush. 

The princess was loved by all. But, none loved her quite so much as the young boy who worked for her father’s naval guard.

Killian Jones was a poor lad with a father who had disappeared into the night long ago, a brother who worked harder than a boy his age should ever have to, and a mother who was very near to death. Liam, his brother, was on a scholarship and attending classes in the royal navy. Killian scrubbed decks for a few pennies tossed out to him by ship’s captains. He used those pennies to buy bread, cheap vegetables, and sometimes–when he had made extra and merchants were feeling generous—meat to bring home to his mother.

Little Killian lived a life quite different from Princess Emma. And yet, from the first time he saw her, passing through the town on horseback with her father, he was sure he loved her. King David was a fair and just king, greatly admired by the people. Princess Emma was his only child, and he took seriously the task of training her up in the ways of ruling, and personally acquainted her with the village she would one day govern.

Killian had come home that night, eager to tell his family of the angel he had seen. Liam had laughed at him, calling him a “romantic fool,” but his mother had thought him sweet. From then on, Killian thought of Princess Emma every day. When he ate his breakfast of mealy porridge, he wondered what Emma was eating for her breakfast, and the same at lunch and dinner. Thinking of the princess somehow made his time scrubbing decks more bearable. However, he was never so fortunate as to see her again in the village.

There came a day when times were, somehow, even harder for the Jones family. Work was scarce for Liam and even scarcer still for Killian. Even though it would break both his mother’s and brother’s heart to see him thieving, Killian took to stealing now and again from merchant’s carts, just to keep them from starving.

It was at this time he told his mother his first lie. When he brought home a whole loaf of bread one night, still warm to the touch from where it had been cooling on the baker’s windowsill, his mother had praised him for being able to find work and bargain so well with the merchant. Guilt had gnawed at him that evening as he lay in bed, thinking of the lies he had told. He thought of Princess Emma and how she would have surely scolded him for stealing in her kingdom.

It took talent, avoiding getting caught by store owners when he stole. Eventually, he had to widen his territory, and one day came upon the most beautiful garden he had ever seen. He could see through the metal gates that shielded it, as he looked through them longingly, like bars in a prison. There were paths winding through it and marvelously carved statues decorating its corners. Bushes and shrubs of all different shapes and colors adorned the garden grounds, and each inhale brought to him the sweetest, most alluring scents from flowers brought in from distant lands he would never see.

Before he had a chance to second guess himself, he was scaling the walls, clambering silently up them until he had reached the top. He hesitated only a moment before hopping down, landing quietly on his feet in the grass. Everything was even more beautiful up close, the bright colors even more magnificent.

He wanted to get lost in this garden and never leave.

As he made his way toward its center, he wasn’t bothering to stay silent anymore. Each of the sweet-smelling bushes seemed to house treasures of their own; one showcased triangle-shaped, bright yellow berries. He leaned in close, inspecting them, before pulling one from the branches and popping it into his mouth. A broad grin touched his features, and he immediately began picking more. The berries tasted exactly like store-bought candy. Each shrub seemed to shield its own treasures, and his pockets were soon brimming with different colored berries and small fruits.

He didn’t seem to realize when he was nearing the center of the garden, where the foliage was scarcer and farther apart.

“Who’s there?” called a small voice. It was soft, but unafraid.

Killian looked up. He inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

There she was.

Princess Emma was sitting on a wooden bench, not ten feet away, and she was staring at him. Her hands were folded in her lap demurely, but Killian could not help but noticed the small blade she held in one of them. His heart stuttered in his chest.

Up close, she was even more breathtaking, and he found himself mesmerized by the green of her eyes as she watched him, awaiting a response. Swallowing dryly, he attempted to speak, “M-My name is Killian Jones, your highness.”

Princess Emma looked at him for a long moment before she spoke again. “It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Jones.” She spoke with all the regality of a princess, but there was a spark behind her eyes as she rose to her feet. She was just a few inches shorter than him, he couldn’t help but notice. “May I ask what you are doing in my garden?”

Killian felt the tips of his ears redden. “I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn’t–” Just then, one of the pockets of his ragged pants burst, the weight of all the fruit stuffed into it causing it to tear. Berries of all the colors of the rainbow rained down, landing in the grass at his feet. He cursed quietly, dipping down to gather them up, but they slipped through his trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “I’m so sorry, Princess, I wasn’t trying to–”

Suddenly, her small hand was covering his, making him pause. She had knelt down next to him, resting on her knees, gathering dirt all across her satin dress. “Oh, you’re hungry,” she said. He couldn’t help but notice she had left the dagger she’d held sitting on the bench. “I’m so stupid. Here, take whatever you want. It’s all yours.”

Killian watched, speechless, as she retrieved a small basket from her bench, presumably from her lunch. There were cloth napkins folded over meats and cheeses, with half a loaf of bread tucked into the side. Emma seemed sheepish as he gaped at it. “Our cook tends to over pack for me when I sit out here for lunch,” she said in modest explanation. Killian nodded, pretending he knew what that was like. “Please, take the rest. I insist.” She helped him gather the rest of the berries from the grass.

Killian was utterly dumbfounded. Seeming to sense this, Emma continued. “I’m Emma. And it really is nice to meet you, Killian. It’s not often I actually get to meet another person my age; I don’t get out to the village much.”

I’ve seen you there, Killian wanted to say, but he couldn’t seem to form the words.

“Anyway, sorry about the knife,” she said. “My father taught me how to defend myself, if need be, and you—well, you startled me, that’s all. No one’s ever tried to climb that metal wall before.”

“It wasn’t very hard, actually,” Killian said, surprising himself as he found his voice. He cleared his throat and continued. “I really am sorry for all this. I wasn’t intending to come here and steal from you. It was all just so…” He trailed off, unable to find words for the colors and scents that had lured him there.

Emma giggled. “I know,” she said, nodding as she looked around. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is my favorite place in the whole world. And this–” she stopped abruptly, taking him by the hand. Killian’s heart suddenly had wings; he felt as though he were soaring. Emma pulled him back over to the bench where she had been sitting.

“–This is the best spot in the whole garden.” She sat, and patted the seat next to her, indicating he sit. “It’s the very center of it, and you can see everything.” He sat with her, knees shaking as he realized how close he was to her; Emma was still holding onto his hand. He followed her gaze, surveying the beautiful grounds from a new angle. From somewhere in the distance, he could hear the distinct trickle of fountains. Serenity befell them, as they simply sat together, enjoying the peace of a quiet garden.

Killian would recall that afternoon as the most wonderful moment of his entire life. As the sun began to set, he reluctantly told her he had to leave, or his mother would worry and send his brother looking for him. Emma looked briefly crestfallen, but nodded in understanding. She told him if she came the following day, she would happily share her lunch with him again. This brought a smile to his face that stayed with him his whole walk home—not at the prospect of attaining more food, but at the very idea of spending time with his princess again.

He agreed, and this seemed to delight her. Killian had found this odd, but on his walk home, he realized he had never given thought to the idea that perhaps the princess was lonely, too.

+++

They met in her garden almost every day. As children, it seemed to them a great and wonderful secret, to have a friend no one else had met and with whom one met in secret. Each day, Killian fell more and more in love with her. She told him stories of her father and mother, and Killian could see in her eyes how much she adored them. He told her of Liam, and how he hoped to follow in his footsteps and join the royal navy. Emma thought this a wonderful idea, because, in her mind, this meant Killian would be working for her father and she could see much more of him.

Each afternoon they met, Emma tried to bring something new to show him. One day, she brought along two practice swords and told Killian she was going to teach him how to spar with her. Killian brought her shells from the ocean shore.

There were times when Killian could not meet her at her bench, and she was always understanding of this. She knew he was working hard to help feed his family. There were weeks where he could only manage to see her once, and months where he had only seen her for but a few short visits.

As they grew older, the times in which they saw one another were fewer and farther between. Yet still, their friendship grew, as did Emma’s beauty. As adolescence left them, Emma’s child-like affection and penchant for hand-holding and kisses of gratitude left her. She became more poised, modest with her affection, and, Killian thought, regal. Had he spoke any of these thoughts to her, she surely would have blushed and cuffed him one on the arm; his princess was still as fiery as the day he’d first met her.

As Kilian began to leave boyhood behind and inch ever and ever closer to becoming a man, he became more and more dashing. After the passing of his mother, his laughter, once a freely given thing in Emma’s company, was now more reserved. But, when it came to his princess, his dimpled smiles were always hers for the taking.

Killian was accepted into the royal academy with ease. His aptitude tests were immaculate, and while Emma threatened in jest to fire any naval commander who dared turn him down, Liam’s recommendation had been enough. And so, Killian became a navy man, and Emma could not have been more proud of him.

Their lives were vastly different than when they had first met as children. Emma was busy with her own studies, as she was being tutored in all manner of things future heirs must know. She continued her lessons in fencing and horseback riding, and every time her father had any sort of diplomatic meeting to attend, he brought her along, assuring her she would need to know how to handle these sorts of matters one day.

Killian, for his part, was undergoing rigorous physical and mental training, in order to be fit for use for the king’s navy. He dreamed of captaining his own ship one day, like his brother, who promised him such a day would come before he knew it.

While Emma’s father only seemed to speak of what her duties as Queen would one day be, Emma’s mother wanted nothing more than to discuss suitors, a subject in which Emma felt she could drown in boredom. She had no time to think of men, or husbands, and admittedly, the only man she found herself thinking of was Killian. She accredited this to her simply being a good friend, and wondering often how he was faring in the navy, especially during the long stretches where they could not see one another.

Slowly, the princess was falling for the Lieutenant, the very same boy whom she had first met on a sunny day in her garden, when his pockets burst from all he had stolen from her. Neither of her parents were any the wiser. When her daughter showed complete disinterest in the subject of suitors, queen Snow took it upon herself to find some.

The king and queen had married happily for love. One had been a commoner and the other had been royalty, a scandalous choice in most cases, but their kingdom had only seemed to prosper for it. In the same spirit of prosperity, the Queen sought suitors from kingdoms across the realm, seeking a happy merger to befit the interests of all.

And so, Queen Snow arranged a meeting between Emma and the son of the most powerful magician in the land, who was feared by many. Emma knew nothing of this; the Queen thought it might make for a wonderful surprise. However, Emma did notice the sudden uptake in etiquette and manner lessons in the next few weeks.

+++

Killian usually sent word via letter when he was planning to visit Emma. This time, he kept his arrival to himself, and fully intended to surprise her. Sitting at their bench, he waited, resolved to stay until she came out to visit her garden. He did not know the business of her day-to-day schedule, but he did know his princess; no matter how busy she was, she would always find time to sit at her bench, to sink into the peacefulness of her perfect garden, if only for a moment, to renew herself. He would be there when she did.

He had waited for about an hour, hands folded in his lap, lost in the thoughts swirling about in his head, when an unfamiliar voice snapped him from his reverie.

“Who the devil are you supposed to be?”

Killian looked up sharply, eyes narrowed. Before him stood a man with scales for skin, dressed in leather pants and a showy tunic. He had bedraggled hair that rested past his chin, and black eyes that stared beadily at Killian as he looked him up and down, arms folded over his chest, unamused. A chill raced up Killian’s spine. Looking at the man, he couldn’t help but be reminded of a reptile; the impression wasn’t helped as the stranger sneered at him, revealing matching rows of pointed teeth.

Killian rose and gave a quick but cordial bow. “Captain Killian Jones, sir,” he said, by way of introduction.

“Captain?” the man asked.

Killian would have thought his position in the royal navy would be obvious, given the uniform he wore, but he nodded anyway and said, “Aye, in the royal navy. Newly promoted, as it stands.” He had intended the princess be the first to hear the news—second to Liam, of course—but she would have to hear after this inquisitive stranger.

The man gave an indignant snort. “How nice,” he said flatly. “Good for you and all of that. But why are you here, now, in this garden?”

Killian cleared his throat, willing away the blush that rose to his ears. “If you must know,” he said, not unkindly, “I’m waiting for Princess Emma. She’s an old friend of mine. I’ve known her since I was a child.”

The man gaped at him for a moment. “Oh, this won’t do at all,” he said. “No, no, no! I can’t have someone like you sitting outside and waiting around to muck everything up. I’m sorry,” he continued, in a voice that sounded distinctly unapologetic, “But I must do away with you.”

Killian couldn’t so much as raise a protest before the man flicked his wrist, and with a wave of the dark magician’s hand, Killian was gone.

—–


	2. The Tree

The day passed on and Emma, as arranged for by her mother, met with the magician's son, Baelfire. It seemed he and the magician were nice enough, but, although Emma generally tried not to judge anyone by his or her appearance, she could not help but be unnerved by the appearance of the dark magician. Baelfire was polite, but the whole meeting bored her to pieces; Baelfire did not have much of anything to say to her. His father, however, seemed particularly interested in Emma's other suitors and if there was anyone else vying for her hand. 

Queen Snow suggested Emma and Baelfire take a stroll in the castle gardens, but Emma was quick to reject that idea, admitting she was tired from the day's activities. Baelfire and his father agreed to return the following week. 

The moment she was free, Emma fled to her garden. No place in the world offered her such tranquility, and after a long day of bustling about doing all manner of pointless activities, her soul longed for it. 

 

+++

 

The moment she set foot onto the garden grounds, she could sense there was something very wrong. Potted Wonderland flowers usually hummed cheerily to her from along the main path when she approached. Now, they were completely still. An eerie silence had befallen the entire garden.

She had spent countless afternoons in this section of the castle grounds, sketching every plant that grew there, and could fill a novel with the conversations she'd had with her best friend, the boy thief who might also have taken her heart, on a bench in the very center of it. She would notice if even the smallest shrub had been neglected to be trimmed. 

Imagine her shock, then, upon seeing an apple tree just behind her bench, pressed so close against it that its roots protruded out past where her feet usually rested. It was tall, as trees usually are, but not so tall that she couldn't pick apples from it—if there were any to be picked. She knew it was a breed of apple tree, but there was no fruit upon its branches. While everything else in the garden was in full bloom, this tree bore nothing but leaves. 

Something in her stomach dipped low. She didn't know why, but looking at this tree—fruitless, looking almost forlorn—made her sad, and a touch lonely. She was certain it had not been there before; she most assuredly would have noticed such a tree in her garden, especially if it rested just behind her favorite sitting place. 

The tree's leaves rustled as she approached it, though she felt no wind. She stood before it, palm rested on the bench beside her, staring up its trunk and to its wide branches. 

“Where did you come from?” she asked, her voice soft. 

She could have sworn she heard the tree creaking—almost moaning—back at her. 

+++

Summer came and summer went, and still, the tree yielded nothing but budding blossoms. Every free moment Emma had, she came to visit it. For reasons she could not name, the tree made her feel more at peace. 

Life on the other side of the castle walls was growing increasingly hectic. Despite his near constant courting, young Baelfire was no nearer to winning the princess' heart than he was the first day they had met. Each time he came to call, his shoulders were slumped in anticipation of rejection. Were it up to him, he would have forsaken his affections after the second visit, when the princess could scarcely have looked more disinterested in him if she tried. Her mind, it seemed, was always somewhere else, somewhere much farther away than his company. 

Killian, her friend, had disappeared completely. She had sent word on several occasions to commanding officers in the royal navy, and had even gone so far as to consult his brother, Liam. It was all to little avail. Anyone she spoke to told her the same: Killian had disappeared weeks ago and had never reported to his post after making the rank of captain. 

Hearing this had simultaneously thrilled her and sunk her heart lower than she knew it could fall. Captain, she thought, with swelling pride. Her childhood friend had finally made it as far as he'd dared to dream, though she knew he could rise in rank as far as possible. But, from the time they were small, Killian had spoken wistfully of captaining his own ship, following in his beloved brother's footsteps. 

And now, he had made it. Her heart ached, mind always racing to the worst scenarios of what could have happened to him. On dreary days, looking out her bedroom window, she imagined him on his way to see her, then getting mugged and beaten by a band of robbers. She had heard about them—bandits who lurked in the forests, targeting royalty or those associated, as military men were. The thought filled her with a curious mixture of dread and rage.

+++

Emma's disposition had always been easily swayed by the weather. Her most morose days were those in which the sun was trapped behind the clouds, and her cheeriest were when it shone freely. Being aware of this, she took every chance she could to be out in the sun, in her garden, on days when the sun was out. At her behest, most of the palace gardeners had been relieved of duty. The head gardener remained, attending to things when she was away or preoccupied with royal affairs. The rest of the work had been taken up by princess Emma. 

Working with her hands seemed to distract her. She loved seeing the earth freshly turned and dug, loved sinking her fingers into the ground until she felt where it was cool to the touch. Most of all, she loved planting new things and watching them grow. The skin beneath her nails was, it seemed now, always blackened with dirt, and she preferred it that way. 

When she missed Killian most, she talked about him. Not to her father and mother, of course, for as dearly as they loved her, she knew they wouldn't understand. They didn't even know of the naval captain's existence, and she wanted it to stay that way. Part of her wished everyone in the world knew him, especially with his disappearance haunting her each passing day. 

But, she wouldn't know what to tell people about Killian. She was in love with him, she could feel that to the core of her soul, but the idea of voicing that aloud to anyone petrified her. So, on the days she felt so near to bursting with worry for him she simply couldn't stand it, she let her emotions spill out into stories. 

The apple-less apple tree was steadfast in the comfort it offered her. It was constant, unshakable, and beautiful in its quiet fortitude; it was the first thing she wanted to see when she stepped onto the grounds each day. And it was always there, standing tall and proud, waiting for her. 

As she dug in the earth or sat at her bench with a sketchbook and coal pencil, she told it stories of her love. She told it how they had met, how much he had changed her, and how he had made her—fiercely and gently at the same time—see the world differently. She told the tree of Killian's bravery, of his strength, and each day, she told it how much she missed him. All the riches of her inheritance would be given freely, if only someone would find him and bring him back to her. 

+++

As summer shrank back and gave way to fall, the leaves on her apple tree began to change. They turned the most brilliant shades of scarlet, and then they were gone, drifting to the ground in scattered mounds. 

One day, she found the head gardener beneath her tree with a metal rake, carefully sweeping the leaves up into a pile. She stopped him promptly, hopeful she could attend to the tree's fallen leaves, herself. Befuddled, Gipetto had handed her the rake and shown her the easiest way to gather the leaves. He told her he would return that afternoon to retrieve them, if only she would get them ready and piled, but instead, Emma gave him the day off. 

“I'll take care of you,” she told the tree, once she was alone. The tree's few remaining leaves rustled in a wind that wasn't there. Nothing else in the garden moved. Emma's heart thudded hard in her chest as she looked up at it, watching as its thinner branches twitched and swayed gently. “Don't worry,” she whispered. “I'm here.” 

+++

Throughout fall, she insisted on the best fertilizer known to the kingdom and brought it to her tree personally. As she worked, she told it about her days and the suitors who came to call on her. Baelfire, much to his father's frustration, had ceased visiting. 

She told the tree how she had hired a few individuals with tremendous reputations for results—albeit with some more curious methods—to investigate Killian's disappearance. If need be, she had access to the kingdom's finances, but required her father's permission, of course. Most of the individuals she found were willing to work on promise of payment, providing Killian was located. So far, none had produced so much as a hint of where he could have gone. Emma wasn't sure if she should be relieved or even more worried with the news. 

+++

The next winter that came was the worst one Emma had ever known. It was dreadfully cold, and there were many weeks where nearly everything in the garden was concealed by white, save her apple tree, which stood bare and valiant, alone in the center of her garden. 

One morning, the princess awoke with a terrible virus, which kept her bedridden for several days. Once she was recovered enough to leave her bed, she bundled herself and stood outside all afternoon, until a panicked servant came to fetch her, finding her talking to her apple tree and apologizing feverishly for not visiting sooner. 

Spring had never been more welcome. The snow she loathed began to melt and the afternoons began to warm as the sun's rays finally brought heat to the day. Emma was back at her bench as frequently as she could manage. Sometimes, she would bring a book with her and read aloud to her tree, which it always seemed to appreciate. Often, it would sway gently along with her words.

Emma knew what her handmaidens and the rest of the palace servants spoke about her behind guarded hands as she began to spend nearly all her days in the garden. Her fixation with the apple tree could hardly be explained, even by Emma. But, it comforted her. When her anxiety mounted, the tree brought her immeasurable peace, and that made it the most priceless thing in the entire kingdom. Being near to it gave ease to her worried heart, at least for a time. She talked to it, speaking things about herself she hadn't voiced since she had last spent time with Killian, and every day, she spoke of how dearly she missed her friend

Spring gave way to summer. None of the investigators she had hired had been able to find any trace of Killian. Liam, his brother, was hunting for him just as thoroughly with all of his naval connections. He sent letters to Emma from time to time, updating her on his progress. It was always the same. 

One afternoon, after a particularly hopeless update from Liam, Emma cried openly, with her back leaned against the trunk of the apple tree and her face pressed into her hands. She had lost all hope of ever seeing Killian again. Her sobbing wracked her, shaking her small frame until she was all but gasping for breath. She took dirt into her fists and squeezed it tightly, angrily, until the muscles in her arms ached and trembled. 

She could feel the tree pressing into her, its bark rough, even through the thick fabric of her dress. It seemed to groan, shifting behind her. Suddenly, Emma felt something round and dense hit her lap. Her breath hitching, she looked up, blinking back the tears clouding her vision. 

There, resting in the folds of her skirts, was an apple. It was large, perfectly yellow, and completely unmarred. Emma stared at it for a few moments before looking up sharply, her eyes scanning for signs of more fruit. Rustling leaves, threaded with white apple blossoms, were all that met her gaze.

She squeezed the apple in her hand and looked down at it intensely, as if it would be able to explain itself to her. But, it was as silent and unyielding as her tree. She rose gingerly to her feet, walking back a few paces to survey the tree. Its leaves were as thick and green as ever; there wasn't an apple in sight, save for the one in her hand. It was larger than her palm, plump for the eating, unlike the smaller ones she expected to find dropping to the ground in the beginning of apple season. 

With a start, Emma realized it wasn't apple season at all; she was hoping to finally see fruit on her tree near the end of summer, not the beginning of it. 

Eventually, she sat down again, back resting against the tree once more. When the warm weather had come, she had abandoned her childhood bench altogether, preferring to sit directly against the apple tree. She had missed it terribly through the winter, and wanted to be as near to it as she could. 

Emma held the apple in her hand, turning it over now and again to look at it. She couldn't bring herself to eat it, despite how appetizing it looked. 

That was the end of her tears for the day. 

+++

Unbeknownst to the princess, the rest of the castle residents had taken notice of her behavior. They deemed it strange, eccentric, wondering what had become of their fierce princess with the fire behind her eyes. While her garden flourished beneath her tender care, the princess herself had been wilting. 

The king and queen, being none the wiser, assumed their daughter's mounting depression was due to things not ending well with the dark magician's son. They had no idea that when Emma was not in their presence, she was sitting beneath a tree, telling it stories. 

It was Geppetto, the head gardener, who finally brought this to their attention. 

The older man called a private meeting with his beloved rulers and told them of how he had been keeping an eye on the princess when he was in the castle garden, how she cared for it with more dedication than she was caring for herself, and how reluctant she had become to leave its side, or let anyone else tend to it. 

The king and queen were very naturally concerned for their daughter. It hadn't gone unnoticed by them that she was shirking her studies, avoiding royal meetings at all costs. But in truth, the king and queen were overwhelmingly busy, themselves, as rumors of the dark magician's nefarious deeds grew closer to their kingdom's borders. 

After some deliberation, a decision was made. 

+++

The next morning, Emma awoke early, too eager to eat her breakfast in the castle. She packed it in a basket, planning to eat it beneath her tree. 

The sun was shining gloriously. Emma squinted the moment she pulled back the heavy, wooden doors to garden grounds, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes. 

And then she heard it. 

From somewhere, up ahead, came the distinct sound of an ax hitting wood.


	3. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me and being so patient in awaiting this last part, the conclusion of our tale. I can't say thank you enough for all those who have left comments and messaged me directly about this story. I never expected it would so enjoyed, and it warms my heart. I hope I've done well by you all in the end.

Throughout time, there had been much speculation about True Love—whether it existed, firstly, and secondly, in a more secretive debate, whether it held power. Most kingdoms were not built upon love's promises, as few royals married for affection when arranged marriages and business mergers were generally much more beneficial. Those who did marry for love, royal and commoner alike, always wondered whether their love met the standard for what could be considered True love.

With some couples, for better or for worse, it was self-evident.

King David and his Queen, Snow, were one such couple. Their love was one of which sonnets were written, and ballads sung in the streets. Their kingdom thrived, its denizens secure in the knowledge of their rulers' hearts. For when one ruled in love, the whole kingdom felt it. 

Much speculation had also been made through the centuries about what came of True Love. A child born of it, rarer still than True Love, itself, was said to possess power all its own, the lightest and purest form of magic. 

Of course, this was speculation derived from mages, sorcerers, and other magic-wielding folk who had the experience and knowledge to even entertain such thoughts. Most people gave little thought to True Love and absolutely no thought to what extra power one such couple's children could potentially possess, and life went on as usual. 

In truth, True Love was a magic all its own, and the power it created when it brought forth new life was insurmountable. 

+

Unbeknownst to her, Princess Emma possessed such power. It lay in recess, a subtle hum of strength beneath her skin, a fire behind her eyes. It was why her garden flourished beneath her touch, thriving far better in her care than any of the palace gardeners had ever seen before. 

As the ax struck again, Emma's heart seized. The basket slipped from her hand, her breakfast spilling out onto the grass as she took off, racing along the main path, toward the center of the garden—toward her apple tree. 

Her father stood before it, ax in hand. King David, not hearing her approach, raised his ax to take another swing at the tree, which already bore a deep, irreparable gash. Emma slammed into him, nearly knocking the king to the ground. With a ferocity that made her father gape in shock, she reached for the ax and began to wrestle it out of his hands. 

The king, momentarily flabbergasted, soon found his voice. “Emma,” he said, all the authority of a ruler threading his tone, “This is for your own good.” 

The look that flitted across her face was enough to break his heart, but he held fast.  
Emma paused and stared up at her father. Her face bore an expression of utter disbelief, which quickly morphed into a stubborn anger. 

“No,” she said, firmly. 

For a long while, neither spoke a word. A tense silence spread out between them. 

Emma was the first to move. She stepped back, away from him, moving to stand in front of the apple tree. The king's face fell, his stern expression melting. He watched his daughter as she pressed her back to the tree, holding out her arms as if to shield it, leaning into the gash he had created with the ax. 

King David heaved a sigh, eventually letting the ax drop heavily to the grass. The moment remained strained, each at a loss for words, completely unable to understand the other. Emma continued to look at her father, questioning everything she had ever known him to be, and the king watched his daughter with mounting worry. 

As soon as the ax fell and Emma knew her tree was out of danger, she turned toward it. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the gash the blade had left. It was deep, nearly reaching the middle of the trunk. Had she been a minute later, the tree surely would have been felled. 

Tears sprang to her eyes, spilling immediately. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered once, and then again, until the words became the only ones she knew how to say. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against its trunk, utterly and completely heartbroken. The gash was below eye level, nearly lining up with her chest. She could feel the tree quivering weakly beneath her, but broken as it was, it still held her weight faithfully as she leaned against it. 

Suddenly, the bark beneath Emma's palm began to glow faintly, turning white beneath her hand. Slowly, the trunk began to heal, knitting back together beneath her touch.

The king's jaw dropped in amazement. Never had he seen such magic. The trunk of the apple tree was completely healed. Had he not cut into it himself, he never would have known an ax had been taken to it. 

The princess stood completely still, pressed against the trunk of the tree. 

“There,” she whispered softly. “All better.” 

In a sweet gesture beseeching forgiveness, she pressed her lips to the tree's bark, over the scarred knot of wood where the ax had first sunk into its trunk.

Abruptly, there was a quick burst of colorful light and a force that knocked Emma backward. She landed hard on her back, the breath driven from her lungs in a rush of air. Her father cried out, starting toward her, but he stopped as the tree began to tremble, its branches thrashing violently above their heads. 

The apple tree's branches shrank back, pulling themselves out of Emma's view, and she was left staring up at the clouds. 

Dazed, she pushed herself up slowly with one elbow, lungs still aching from the force of her landing. 

“Emma?” came a low, quiet voice that made her freeze. 

Emma's blood ran cold, as if she had heard the whisper of a ghost. She scrambled into a sitting position, eyes nearly bugging out of her head. 

Killian Jones stood a few feet in front of her her, dressed in his naval officer's uniform. He looked about as dumbfounded as she felt. His mouth had gone slack as he stared at her with widened eyes. 

The tree was gone, seemingly vanished into thin air, and in its place stood her childhood friend. 

A sob hitched in her throat, and without so much as another thought, she was running for him, launching herself into his arms. 

 

As shocked as he seemed, Killian caught her easily enough, raising her up above his head as he threw his head back with a loud laugh. Her skirts twirled as he spun her once, before he brought her down to the ground gently and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He barked out a quick laugh, grinning at her wildly as he pulled back, and suddenly Emma's heart was soaring. 

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him to her as if her life depended on it. Killian laughed again, a deep, hearty bellow of mirth that she had missed so dearly. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him with no intent to ever let her go. 

Emma's eyes were streaming a continuous flow of happy, unbelieving tears. “You--” she started, her words lost in a shaky, incredulous laugh. “You were--” 

 

“I'm here,” he assured her, voice hitching, “I'm right here. I've always been here.” 

They clung to each other, desperate to be near one another after all the time they had spent apart. Emma was the more desperate of the two, and she kept pulling back to touch his face, making sure he was really there. 

She began kissing him, over and over, pecking his face with affectionate little kisses, as if he was going to disappear again at any moment. Killian slipped his fingers beneath her chin, guiding her mouth to his, to capture her lips in a kiss. 

The king, who was standing to the side as the horrible realization dawned over him that he had somehow nearly cut a human being in half with his ax, turned away as the two began to kiss, his cheeks dusted in blush. When the moment began to grow more heated between the two, the king cleared his throat loudly, and Emma and Killian separated with a start. 

Frantically, Emma reached for Killian's hand, grasping it firmly in hers. 

“Oh, papa,” she said, “I'm sorry, this... This is Killian.” 

Killian, slightly breathless from their kissing, blushed fiercely and leaned forward in a short bow. 

The king still could not manage to wipe the shock from his face. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a few long strides, and pulled them both into a tight embrace. 

“Gods,” he whispered hoarsely, “I nearly killed you.” Tears sprang into his eyes, and when he pulled away, he clapped Killian once on the shoulder. “How on earth did you--”

“The Dark One,” Killian answered gravely. The king's eyes went wide and Emma gasped softly at his side. “I was waiting here to see Emma, and he cursed me so I could never be with her again.” 

King David nodded tersely. He put his hand on Killian's shoulder again, squeezing it gently. “My boy,” he said, “I am so sorry. Emma,” he turned to her, “Please, forgive me. Please.” 

Emma stared at him for a moment before her eyes flitted back to Killian. She hesitated, then gave a short nod. “You helped me find him again, papa.” 

King David released the breath he had been holding with a huff of relief. His gaze shot back and forth between the two of them. “If I had any idea, I...” he trailed off, unable to voice what he had almost done. “We were so concerned for you, Emma. We couldn't get you to leave that tree,” His eyes shot to Killian, who offered up a weak smile. “We were worried for your safety. I didn't know what else to do. I thought if the tree was gone, you might come back to us.” 

Emma released a shaky breath as she squeezed Killian's hand tighter at her side. The thought of what had nearly happened to him still made her want to faint. She shook her head once. “It doesn't matter. Not anymore, now that Killian's come back to me.” 

King David smiled gently, and his heart swelled with pride at his daughter's grace. “You knew,” he said quietly. “Somehow, you knew it was him, didn't you? That's why you hardly left that tree.” 

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. She hadn't known the apple tree was Killian—not really. How could she have known? 

“I don't know,” she finally managed to offer. “I just felt drawn to it—to him. I was so worried, every day, because no one seemed to have any idea where Killian had gone. But, my tree...” She trailed off, and turned her gaze again to Killian, who was looking at her with nothing shy of adoration. “My tree gave me strength.” 

The King nodded. “And that was... That was True Love's kiss that changed you back,” he murmured. “The same magic that awoke Snow—your mother—from her glass coffin.” 

Emma gave a slight blush and nodded. Killian's jaw dropped slightly, and he stared at Emma with widened eyes, as if he had been missing that piece of the puzzle until that very moment. David chuckled.

“I'm going to go tell your mother,” he said, and his eyes flit between Emma and Killian, lingering an uncomfortable amount of time on the latter, until Killian began to shift on his feet nervously. “I'll give you two some time alone,” David continued, “And then we shall have a feast to celebrate.” 

David winked at his daughter, who beamed back at him. With that, the king left. The heavy wooden doors to the castle swung back into place with a heavy clang, and the two were finally alone. 

They turned to one another slowly, almost shyly. Emma squeezed Killian's hand, and he responded by pulling her closer, letting his other hand rest lightly on her hip. In their reunion, all propriety had been discarded. The appropriate distance for a princess and an unofficial, commoner suitor was disregarded, each anchored to reality by the other's touch. 

Tears welled in her eyes again, and her lower lip began to quiver. “Killian Jones,” she whispered, and he leaned his forehead into hers in response, “I have missed you so much.” 

His nose swept over hers, and he bent forward to take her lips in another kiss. It was sweet, laced in tenderness, and for a moment, the two were lost in the slow dance of the other's lips against theirs. Killian brought his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, and she gave a hum of appreciation. 

Despite the tenderness of their kiss, they were breathless when they finally parted. Killian reached up to brush a wayward strand of her hair from off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. Emma smiled adoringly at him, the two of them swaying just slightly as she leaned into him. “Could you hear me?” she asked him. “When I was telling you all those stories?” 

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “I was hanging on every word, love. It was your voice in my head that kept me sane.” 

She smiled at that, until the smile faltered abruptly and her lower lip began to quiver once more. “I should have known,” she whispered, voice breaking halfway through, “I should have known it was you.” Killian shook his head vehemently. He took her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth, and kissed it. 

“All this time,” she went on, “And you were right here, in my garden. I thought you were dead! Killian, I thought you were dead.” She was crying openly now, weeping over the time with him she had lost, her heart cursing the Dark One and all he had stolen from her. 

“Hey,” Killian whispered, pulling her out of her wayward thoughts and back to his side, “Emma, my love, please. Don't do this to yourself.” He brushed his lips over hers, tasting the salt of her tears. “You didn't know. Darling, you didn't know. You couldn't have known.” 

Emma nodded, but they both knew she didn't believe his words. Killian watched her for a moment, mulling a thought, until he gave a quick nod and, taking her hand, led her to their bench. “Come,” he said, “Sit with me awhile.” 

He sat first, pulling her hand gently, until she came to sit beside him. Her head immediately found his shoulder, leaning into it wearily. 

They sat quietly for a few moments, each simply enjoying the other's company. The garden was quiet, as it was most afternoons. Now and again, a bird would call out a short melody from among the hedges. 

Emma sniffled now and again from beside him. Killian was playing with a strand of her hair, flipping its end absentmindedly between his thumb and forefinger. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “There once was a young lad, poor in circumstance. One day, his eyes happened upon the most beautiful princess in all the land. She was gracious and kind, which only made her all the more beautiful to the boy. Every day, as he worked, he would think of her, and the hours would race by. At night, he dreamed of her. She had taken him as her own, heart and soul, without ever having met him. 

“One day, as luck would have it, the boy and the princess did come to meet. The boy was enchanted with the garden she often visited, drawn by its magic. But, nothing would prepare him for the enchantment of the princess, herself. She was more beautiful up close and proved herself to be even kinder than the stories told of her in the village. Just as simply as that, the boy knew he loved her, that he never wanted to be parted from her. 

“The boy came to know the princess, and even came to call her his friend. She was the north star by which he had come to guide himself, calling him back day after day. She had captured his heart completely.” 

Killian paused then, peering down at Emma. Her head still rested on his shoulder, and her eyes were closed, as she sat lulled by the deep timbre of his voice. “Shall I go on, love?” Killian asked, grinning down at her. “I will warn you, though, the next part gets a bit dicey, but I promise the tale ends happily.” 

Emma pulled her head from him and looked up, the smile she wore threatening to split her face in two. “Killian Jones,” she said slowly, “Will you marry me?” 

+++

They wed in the garden on a cloudless afternoon. The ceremony was small, minuscule compared to most royal affairs, but for them and to them, it was perfect. 

Killian had asked his brother, Liam, to preside over the ceremony. The elder Jones brother had scarcely known a prouder moment in his life. 

Killian wore his naval officer's uniform proudly. For her part, Emma wore a long, white gown with elegant, flowing sleeves. It was modeled after the styles the women of Camelot wore, but it fit Emma perfectly, and when Killian lay eyes on her, his smile outshone the sun. 

 

Their vows were simple as they held hands, each promising themselves to the other, knowing even the darkest magic in the kingdom could not part them. In the privacy of an empty garden, they had each said all they needed to say to prove the depth of their love for each other, and that was enough. In front of a small, albeit eager crowd, the young couple was almost shy, much more reserved with their affection. 

(King David, for one, was glad for this.) 

As the ceremony ended, the well-wishers came up afterward to congratulate the young couple and offer their blessings. The queen managed to pull her daughter discreetly off to the side, and wiped the tears from her own eyes before she tugged Emma into an embrace. 

After a few moments, the queen pulled away and kissed her daughter's forehead, smiling gently at her. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly, “For ever pushing anything upon you but this. You deserve this. You deserve each other. To marry for love is--” She paused, and tears shone in her eyes again, even as her smile held. “A precious thing,” she finished, and Emma had to blink back tears of her own. 

“Thank you, mother,” Emma said. Queen Snow nodded and took her daughter's hand, squeezing it gently. The king came to them then, offering his wife his arm. She took it demurely, and after issuing a sweet kiss to his daughter's brow, the king escorted his queen back to the castle to help organize the feast. 

Killian was talking with his brother when Emma rejoined him. “Your highness,” Liam said, offering a smile and a slight bow at the princess' approach. “Though, I suppose now I should be offering Prince Killian here the same treatment.” Killian put his hand on his brother's shoulder, preemptively halting what he anticipated to be a jesting bow. 

“No,” Killian said, laughing despite the blush that tinged his ears pink. “Please don't.” 

Liam shot Emma a wink. “In all seriousness,” he continued, “It is truly an honor to have you as part of my family, Emma. I can scarcely think of anyone more deserving of my little brother's devotion.” Ignoring a scoff from Killian, he continued, “It was my great privilege to marry you both today.” 

Emma smiled gratefully and she opened her arms to pull Liam into an embrace. “Thank you, Liam,” she said, issuing a quick kiss to his cheek as she pulled away. “For everything.” 

Liam nodded and clapped his brother on the shoulder once before pulling him into an embrace of their own. Assuring them he would see them both at the reception, he took his leave, and finally, Emma and her husband were left alone. 

Killian took her hand in his, brought it delicately to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Sit with me, love?” Emma nodded, and he led her to their bench.

As strange as it was, Emma had grown accustomed to the shade of the apple tree covering her bench, and when they sat, she had to turn deliberately from the strong light of the sun. 

Killian put his arm around her, letting his hand rest at her waist. He leaned in to kiss her temple, pausing to whisper into her ear, “I love you, Emma.” 

Emma gave a little hum and turned to look at him. “And I you.” 

“You look stunning.” 

“And you look--” 

Killian gave a half-shrug and smirked at her. “I know.” 

Emma snorted quietly, rolling her eyes at him. “I was going to say dashing.” 

A genuine smile overtook his features, and it only expired from his face when he leaned in to kiss her again. Emma found his other hand and laced their fingers together as she brought it to rest in her lap. 

They were quiet for a few minutes, each reflecting, lost in their own thoughts. As she leaned into him, Emma was struck suddenly with the realization that the same steadfast peace she had felt with her apple tree she felt now with Killian. Only it was different now, and much better. He was here, he was safe, and he had married her. 

+++

The celebration in the kingdom lasted an entire week. If the Dark One had gotten wind of his victim's triumphant return to human form, he gave no sign. Emma and Killian each grappled for many years with the idea of seeking revenge for the turmoil he had wrought between them. But, it was a fruitless endeavor, one that would needlessly endanger the entire kingdom. Stories of the Dark One's infamous deeds were cropping up farther and farther away from their land. For the time being, they were safe.

King David and Queen Snow ruled for many years, and the kingdom continued to flourish beneath their reign. When the time came, Emma was a righteous queen, fierce and gentle all at once. Killian was the rock by which she steadied herself, and his deft mind was matched by no other kingdom's rulers. 

And when darkness began to creep upon their doorstep, they were ready, hand-in-hand, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I live off feedback, so please feel free to drop me a line or leave a kudos or a comment here! 
> 
> Thanks to my girl bleekay for looking over this for me and squeeing in all the right parts. I'm also incredibly thankful to my dear friend Sunny (sunbeamsandmoonrays on tumblr), who made a lovely graphic based on the first chapter of this story. If anyone felt compelled to do any type of artwork based on this tale, I'd die of happiness, so please tag me if you do! @stubble-sandwich on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks again, guys!

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks are owed to bleebug for reading this over for me! She's great, go read her stuff.  
> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts, even if it's just a quick blurb. I'll be posting the next part very soon!


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